"Choose, yourself, or your new bride," Regina's voice sneers. The young man's voice begs, his brown eyes are desperate as he pleads with the Evil Queen to crush his heart and spare his bride. The Queen's red lips curl in a smirk, a heart in either hand, red pulsing light glowing through her fingers. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, young man. Love is weakness." She places the woman's warm, beating heart in the man's hand. He looks relieved for an instant, and without hesitating turns to the woman to return the object to its rightful place. "Crush it," she orders coldly, squeezing the heart in her own fist. The man's eyes widen and he jerks his head, trying to resist. His hand shakes around the heart, knuckles turning white. Regina repeats the order through her teeth, squeezing the heart in her own fist until the man crushes his wife's heart, tears streaming down their once-joyful faces. Dust falls from his fist like sand. Regina laughs as the young man cradles the body of his beloved, sobbing for her forgiveness.
A man is forced to the Queen's chamber in shackles. He glares defiantly at Regina, demanding to be released, telling her his children are alone in the forest he was taken from. "Yes, I know all about your children. That compass you gave sweet, little Gretel…Well, I'm afraid it didn't help her find you now, though, did it?" Regina answers smugly. The man pulls more vigorously against the guards flanking him, demanding to know what she did to his children, demanding to know where they were. "Gone," Regina barks coldly. "I told them you abandoned them, leaving nothing but a compass to find their way. But I didn't bring you here to answer your questions. You're here to answer mine. I offered your children everything, whatever their hearts desired, and they still chose uncertainty because of their blind faith in you. Tell me why. Hm? Why did your children refuse me?" Regina poses the question thoughtfully, appearing genuinely at a loss for an answer. The man explains with the slightest bit of desperate hope shining in his defiant eyes that they're a family. Family always finds one another. Regina sneers at the response, stepping forward and wrenching his heart from his chest. "You have a strong heart. Much like your daughter's." The man screams.
Graham is dressed in furs and a cloak. He stands with Regina in all her queenly black finery in a room surrounded by drawers. A marble chamber, much more extensive than the one underneath the crypt. He holds a leather pouch at his side but offers Regina a folded letter, explaining the girl wanted her to have it. Upon Regina's command, he reads it aloud. It's Snow White's acceptance of death and internalization that she's at fault, followed by a plea for mercy for her people. Regina angrily flings the letter into the burning fireplace, barking at Graham about becoming a sheep. Graham's attempts to reason with Regina about Snow considering others before herself fail to placate the Evil Queen, and she demands to see Snow's heart. Regina seizes the heart from Graham with almost a manic mix of rage and glee, stalking toward a drawer that doesn't open. "This isn't her heart! This isn't a human heart! What did you do?" She demands, holding out the heart as she stalks forward. Regina slams the heart down. "Did you think you could fool me with the heart of a stag?" With a flick of her wrist, the doors fly shut behind Graham, trapping him. He says she doesn't deserve to die. "That's not up to you!" Regina snarls. "I wanted a heart, and a heart I shall have." Her hand enters his chest, ripping out his heart. His eyes are wide, terrified, demanding what she's going to do to him. Regina seizes his face in her opposite hand and kisses him. "You're now mine, my pet." She spits out words that would otherwise seem like an endearment. Stalking back over to the wall, she holds out the heart. This time, the drawer opens. "And this is your cage. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. And if you ever disobey me, if you ever try to run away, all I have to do is squeeze." She squeezes in a threatening demonstration as Graham doubles over in pain against the door. Her guards seize Graham by either arm. "Your life is now in my hands, forever. Take him to my bedchamber." As Regina places Graham's heart inside of a wooden box, the guards usher Graham away with a terrified look on his face.
A young girl's dirt-streaked face pokes out from behind a tree. Her green eyes are wide in terror. Dark curls tangled with leaves and twigs fall around her shoulders as she turns and tries to outrun the thundering carriage that approaches. Sophie. Her limbs are frozen in place as the Evil Queen approaches. Sophie's already pale face pales even further. At the Queen's haughty demand, Sophie desperately explains that she was only foraging for food. Her family is starving, they need this food to live. Sophie cries and begs for the Queen to release her. Regina's face hardens as she stalks closer, twisting a lock of hair from Sophie's tear-streaked face. "While you were foraging, what else did you see?" Confused, Sophie mentions the dark-haired figure in the green cloak who ran by a few minutes before. Wicked delight shines in the Queen's eyes. "I once knew a girl who looked so much like you." She strokes a leather-gloved hand down Sophie's face as the girl is frozen and unable to recoil. "She betrayed a secret, and it cost me dearly. I believe Providence has smiled upon me with you. You're going to tell me secrets." Without warning, Regina thrusts her hand into the girl's chest and rips out her glowing, red heart. She's summoned before the Queen, underfed and unkempt. The Queen clenches a fist around Sophie's heart, demanding to know what she witnessed, what she overheard, and what the rabble-rousers are saying now. The accused eyes burn into Sophie as the Queen executes them for treason. Knowledge and blame burn through the numbness that a lack of heart provides the young girl.
Emma's eyes slam open, facing the monotonous ceiling of the hospital room. Her heart hammers painfully in her own chest. Each ragged, gasping breath burns her sides and her chest. Gradually, pressing down lightly on her sternum, she's able to steady both. Emma breathes through gritted teeth. It's years of practice that have taught her that skill. The standard explanation of it merely being a nightmare doesn't suffice, though. Because she knows it wasn't just a nightmare. It was real. Maybe not things that really happened to her, but they were real.
She explained just enough to Jones about what she saw to be telling the truth. It was in bits and pieces. She did receive a more coherent picture when the heart was restored. Just how clear, well, it wasn't much at the time. Each one was rapid-fire, so she didn't have a chance to make sense of one before she would receive another. That was partially by design. Based on the horror of the events, maybe that was a benefit. But a downside of days of bed rest is that she's had nothing but time to think, time to process what she saw. Emma has had time to sort out the images, and piece together what happened. As a result, what she saw has haunted her dreams. Every time she closes her eyes, she feels that wrenching feeling in her chest. She feels the hearts fail to encounter the resistance of muscle and bone, being wrenched from a chest and being gripped in a clenched fist. Emma cannot escape that feeling. The pain that continues to shoot from the stab wound in her chest doesn't exactly improve matters.
She can't alter the past. She can't erase the horrors that Regina has inflicted. There's nothing she can do to eliminate that pain and suffering, both what they suffered at Regina's hand and what they were forced to inflict on others. God, she doesn't even know the full extent of it. She's seen bits and pieces and those are enough to horrify her. She can't change it, though. What she can change, however, is the curse. She can break the curse. Her destiny, after all, right? And if this world is anything to go by, the trial for Regina will be something to behold when this is all said and done. Emma made Sophie a promise. After everything the girl suffered, the least she can do is try and find her parents.
Say what you will about the curse, it is definitely thorough, if the four-inch binder containing the town charter is anything to go by. There is paperwork galore. Meaning there are medical records. And where better to find those than the hospital?
Soundlessly, not shifting her eyes off Jones, Emma slips one foot and then the other from the hospital bed. She bites down on her lip, cautious not to make a sound. Her ribs burn and ache as she stands gingerly. Dark spots creep on the edges of her vision. Agony lances up her sides. Emma bites down hard enough to draw blood to keep from making a sound. Creeping lightly, she observes his face for any changes. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady. Cold, stale air hits her back and she shivers slightly. The stupid hospital gown has ties in the back, but ties she can't reach on her own without blinding pain in her sides. Laying in bed, it hasn't mattered, but she's not showing the entire hospital her butt. Pulling a sheet around her shoulders like a cape, almost crying out at the pull on her side as she moves her arms, she glances back at Jones. Legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted back, eyes still closed, breathing still steady. Thinking she's in the clear, she tiptoes her way past his outstretched legs to the door.
"And just where do you think you're going, lass?"
His voice shatters the silence. Emma jumps out of her skin, wide-eyed and whipping around to see Jones wide awake, cocked eyebrow and all. "Holy crap! I thought you were asleep!" she hisses. It requires a conscious effort to avoid revealing just how much pain she's in.
"Never more than a sail away from a mutiny. Light sleeper." He explains succinctly. "Now, I'll ask again, where do you think you're going?"
"The basement, to check for the records room," Emma answers simply.
"While I do appreciate the honesty," he replies with sarcastic cheer, "try again."
"You think it's behind the desk?" She frowns and tilts her head.
He looks unamused. "It was charming the first time. Second, not so much. No, Swan. You," he stands smoothly, then lightly takes a hold of her shoulder and guides her back to the hospital bed. "Are going to remain on bed rest, as the doctor ordered."
"But-"
"No buts." Somehow, that look, with the eyebrow and all, quells her protest. Jones speaks with that authoritative tone of a captain accustomed to his orders immediately being followed. She crosses her arms momentarily, then the pain in her sides and her chest has her thinking better of the action. So she settles for glaring mutinously. Jones sighs. "Not taking any chances with your life or your safety, aye?" Emma shrugs and nods grudgingly.
He's just doing that because of the curse. It doesn't break without you. He needs you alive to break it so he can get his revenge. It doesn't mean he cares about you. He doesn't care about you as anything more than a means to an end. You entered this agreement knowing he was planning to use you. He never lied to you about that. Do not make the mistake of allowing yourself to forget that. Somehow, the thought hurts. She shrugs off the pain and changes tack to focus on the one thing she knows she can do.
"Graham got Sophie's last name, so now we can try to find her parents. City Hall's records are kind of gone." There's a look Emma doesn't understand in Jones' eyes at the mention of the fire. She shrugs it off as a trick of light and shadow in the unlit hospital room. "But the hospital's records are still intact. So I was gonna look for that."
"Swan," Jones answers simply.
"It's a hospital. How much trouble can I get in?"
"Knowing you?" He asks. "I swear you're a bloody magnet for it."
"It's a hospital, though. It's safe."
"We've both seen the abysmal state of security in this building." Is that why you haven't left? Is that why you stayed? Out of whatever weird feeling of obligation? Not because my safety actually matters, but because you need me alive. Because I'm more valuable alive.
Once more she stomps down on the thoughts. Those thoughts, or reminders, hurt. And she recognizes why they hurt, because she allowed that elusive little bastard called hope to rear its fucking head and she allowed herself to forget this arrangement is temporary. For some stupid reason, she allowed herself to trust him. She doesn't even remember when exactly that happened. Maybe the night she made the deal with Gold and ended up telling him about Neal? But regardless of how much a mistake it will prove to be, she trusts him.
She stomps down those thoughts as well. Now, the only thing she wants to do is focus on finding Sophie's parents. "It's not like I was gonna go looking for trouble or anything. Just looking for files in the hospital, trying to figure out who her parents are here, and where either Graham or I could find them. It's just…" She shakes her head against the onslaught of images of trials and executions Sophie witnessed. "It's just…" she bites down on her lip, still clearly seeing those accusing eyes from her nightmare. "I made her a promise," she ends in a whisper.
"I know you did, lass." His voice is quietly understanding.
"I'm getting discharged in the morning anyway," she offers hopefully. Her mind almost allows her to say 'heading home', something she instantly catches and stomps down. The Jolly isn't home. It's temporary, and she can't disregard that.
"About that," he mutters.
"Oh come on!" She groans in the way only a teenager can. Head leaning back as far as it goes, dragging out the word 'on' to become two syllables, dramatic as it gets. Something flashes in his eyes, cautioning her that she's testing the limits of his very finite patience, so she reigns in the attitude. "I could always sign the papers myself."
He cocks an eyebrow. "You mentioned how your signature is moot."
"Didn't mean mine. I meant forging yours."
Rather than look angry, he chuckles quietly. "You don't know what mine looks like."
She shrugs cheerfully. "Conveniently for me, neither does Doctor Whale." Emma smiles smugly, having a plan all thought out. He chuckles quietly, shaking his head and muttering something about bad influence. "So," she suggests, smile losing the smugness, "wanna come with?"
He heaves an exasperated sigh. "You're going to leave the second I close my eyes, aren't you?"
Emma thinks about protesting for a moment. "Not the second you close your eyes," she mutters. That damn eyebrow climbs to his hairline displaying his skepticism. "I'd at least wait a minute or two to make sure you're really out." Jones shakes his head.
"Well, I do appreciate the consideration. Come along, I suppose." Behind his back, a victorious smile curves her lips. Jones casts a side-eye in the direction of her makeshift cape. He mutters something about looking bloody ridiculous that only makes her smother a giggle as she pads in her socked feet down the hall. Regardless, if she looks ridiculous, which she totally does, he's certainly one to talk.
Since it's closer, she decides to try the desk first. They both stop around the corner, spotting the woman working late, filing paperwork. It tells Emma she's in the right place, but also that she's got someone to contend with. Her eyes flick to Jones, who nods with a wink. She watches as he swaggers forward, thumb tucked in his belt, turning on the roguish charm he likes to brag about. Emma supposes if she were a different person, older and less put-off by men's attention, she'd be one of the countless women who turn into putty in his hand for the act. Personally, though, she doesn't like the display. Everything about it, from the smirk that doesn't strike his hooded eyes, that doesn't crinkle the corners the way his smile does, to the thicker affectation in his accent, seems so fake. It's an act.
While Jones turns up the flirty charm and the woman at the desk positively eats it up, Emma slips into the backroom. There's one light overhead that she doesn't dare turn on, relying on light filtering in through the door to search for the W's. Dark metal filing cabinets line both sides of the wall in the cramped, narrow room. Emma turns away from the G's to the filing cabinet filled with W. She reaches to pull the drawer open only to find it locked.
"Dammit," she whispers under her breath. Discreetly, she pokes her head out to check on Jones. He still displays the charm dialed up as far as it goes. The woman at the desk is blushing and twirling her hair around her finger, giggling like a schoolgirl. Emma rolls her eyes and quickly scams two paper clips from the desk without being noticed. She picks the lock on the drawer with an ear cocked to Jones' chuckle. Even this doesn't sound right and strikes her as off, twinging that part in her gut that clenches against lies.
Tongue poking out between her lips, Emma picks at the lock and gently opens the drawer. "Warner," she murmurs, fingering through the files until she lands on the right one. Warner, Sophie M. As discreetly as she entered, Emma tucks the folder under her makeshift cape and slips out the door. Jones catches her eye once she's around the corner. She turns and pads back to the hospital room while he says goodbye.
Booted feet quickly, lightly catch up to her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end and her back to stiffen on instinct. "Did you uncover what you were looking for?" Jones asks in a low voice. Emma nods, holding up the folder in demonstration. "Is this legal?" he mutters.
Emma glances over. "Not in the slightest. Why? Does Captain Hook take issue with skirting the law?" He rolls his eyes as he shakes his head, muttering something about a bloody terrible influence and guiding her back to the room with a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't even experience the urge to shake him off anymore. His hand on her shoulder just feels familiar now. Paging through the file, Emma frowns. It doesn't add up. There are no names at all on Sophie's birth certificate. There's no record of foster care or adoption either. Nothing. Complete unknown.
Graham stops by the hospital room, looking exhausted and explaining something about Moe French being attacked. Emma hands off the file. He frowns at her methods of obtaining the information but ultimately decides to take it with him. He says he'll handle finding Sophie's parents from here, and admonishes her to take it easy for as long as the doctor orders.
"How do you expect me to break a curse from bed?" she mutters after Graham leaves.
"I don't expect you to break a curse, not now." Emma's eyes go wide at the harshness in his tone. The only adult who ever genuinely believed in her ability to do anything right, and she failed. She lost that belief. It stings. Her shoulders pull in as she shrinks in on herself unconsciously. He meets her gaze head-on. "I expect you to recover before you get yourself killed. Once you've healed, then you can return to throwing yourself into breaking it, because there's still not a doubt in my mind you will. If nothing else, by sheer force of will alone." He winks, and Emma feels the sting ease. "Bear in mind, you're fourteen years ahead of schedule." She shrugs, eyes on her hands fidgeting in her lap. "But of the two, breaking the curse and living to tell the tale, surviving is more important." He takes her chin between his thumb and his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Do not ever forget that," he says forcefully.
The next morning, Doctor Whale lectures both her and Jones with an extensive list of directions about being discharged. What not to do, that she's supposed to take it easy, how to keep the stitches clean and dry, and to come back immediately if anything feels unusual. He ends it with a hand intended to be comforting but comes off as off-putting on her shoulder and a bland, pasted-on smile while handing off a prescription for the pharmacy.
"Thanks, doc." Emma clips, brushing off his hand with a forced smile of her own. She shoulders her bag, attaches the deputy badge and the walkie to her belt loops, and follows Jones out the door. Each step hurts terribly, but she's not about to let on how much pain she's in. Showing pain is revealing weakness, and that's exactly what Regina wants.
It's a relief that the Dark Star Pharmacy is only a few blocks away. Each step is agony that Emma slowly gets used to. Opening the door quietly, she suddenly gets a gut feeling of 'right place, right time'. Acting in regard to her gut feeling, her eyes flick back to Jones. He soberly nods, stepping back and gesturing her forward with the same expression that time and again says 'do what you need to do'. There's that trust she thought she'd lost.
Two kids a little younger than her, a dark-haired boy and a blond girl, duck their heads and hastily try to shuffle past. They're both dressed in navy and white school uniforms. Both of their hands cling to their backpacks. Emma instantly recognizes the posture, the furtive eyes, and the hasty movements. Trying far too hard to be casual. That had been her, back in Hopkins not that long ago. That was how she met Lily, stealing blueberry pop-tarts and trying way too hard not to get caught. Before she can do what a sheriff's deputy should, the storeowner shouts, "Where the hell do you think you're going? Open up your bag!"
The boy freezes. The girl snatches his hand and tries to shuffle him along.
"Don't think I didn't see you rob me! Open up your bag!" The owner demands. "What's your parents' number? I'm calling them." Emma doesn't hear the girl's response clearly but watches as the owner dials it, then slams the receiver down in frustration a few moments later. The boy and girl look at each other nervously. "That's it, I'm calling the sheriff."
"No need." Emma steps forward, hand reaching for her badge attached to a belt loop. Both kids stare at her with wide, terrified eyes. They definitely hadn't seen her, then. But Emma saw them. These aren't kids stealing for kicks or the hell of it. Something about the look in their eyes, Emma recognizes it deep down.
"Deputy Swan," the owner, Mr. Clark, says before blowing his nose. "These punks-" Emma holds up a hand to cut him off and nods.
"I know. I was just coming in." She glances between the boy and girl, both eyeing her apprehensively. The boy's eyes flick to the girl, wide with fear. The girl's eyes narrow as her mouth sets in a firm line. "You two wanna show me what you took?"
Apparently whatever authority Emma can command is enough. Both of them drop their backpacks, unzipping them to reveal toothpaste and some food. Essentials. Emma releases a quiet, understanding breath while the girl narrows her eyes in a glare and the boy lowers his to the ground. Both are expecting pity. "The number they gave me was disconnected," Mr. Clark explains.
"Did you guys give Mr. Clark a fake number?" Emma asks, not unkindly. They both shake their heads. "Then why's it disconnected?" she asks.
"Cause our parents couldn't pay the bill," the girl answers quietly. Her eyes are on the ground in front of her.
Emma's gut clenches in that familiar way, rejecting the lie. She's not going to call the girl on it. Not yet, anyway. She gets it. These two are survivors. The girl doesn't need more embarrassment. "And you guys are just trying to help out, huh?"
The girl nods. Her wavy, blond hair bounces around her shoulders. "Please, please don't arrest us. It will just make things worse for our parents." The girl begs. Her eyes are wide and pleading now, rather than narrowed in challenge. Emma nods.
She turns to Mr. Clark. "You mind ringing this stuff up?" She asks, pulling a wad of bills from her own bookbag. The boy and girl gape at Emma. Mr. Clark stares in shock. His gaping expression is only broken by a sneeze. Emma steps forward to pay without a change of expression beyond a slight wince at the pain in her side. Mr. Clark complies as the two empty their bags. "And you mind, uh, filling this as well?" Emma hands off the prescription note from Doctor Whale. Mr. Clark nods and explains it'll be ready to pick up in a few hours. So Emma takes the opportunity to walk the two kids home. Jones cocks an eyebrow to which she shrugs. But he chooses to come with her, to her slight surprise.
"What are your names?"
"I'm Ava. This is my brother, Nicholas." Ava answers cheerfully. Nicholas' eyes dart between Emma and Jones, questioning without speaking up. Jones offers no explanation, simply a gesture to the boy to keep moving.
"Are you okay?" Nicholas finally speaks. Emma glances up. He points to the hand unconsciously gripping her side. Emma bears three pairs of concerned eyes on her and prickles at the feeling.
"Yeah, all good. Just recovering." She hears Jones scoff at the word choice.
"What happened?" Ava asks.
"Got hurt on the job." They finally stop in front of a blue house. "This it?"
Ava nods. She and Nicholas move to the porch. Emma takes a step to follow. Ava's wide eyes whip around, trying to stall her. "Please no. If our parents see you, they'll be so embarrassed." Emma's gut twinges.
"Gonna let you in on a little secret, Ava. I have the ability to tell when anybody is lying." Ava's poker face is good, but not that good. Nicholas' poker face is terrible, as his eyes meet the concrete beneath his feet. "Tell me the truth. Money problems aside, is everything okay at home?" Emma glances over both. She can't see any injuries, but that doesn't mean they aren't practiced in hiding them.
Ava pulls a forced smile to her face and responds with something Emma knows intimately. "Yeah, we're great. Can we go?" Everything in Emma's gut clenches, rejecting the all-too-familiar lie. Something's wrong here, but without more cause than a gut feeling, she really can't detain these kids.
"Alright." She can feel Jones' eyes on her, silently making his point while trusting her judgment to handle it. Ava and Nicholas run up the porch steps, turning to wave goodbye as Emma turns down the street.
"Swan, you know-"
"That they're lying? Of course I do. Believe me, I've given that same lie more times than I care to recount, as I'm sure you have as well." She walks slowly down the block, allowing the two the impression that they're gone. Ava and Nicholas both quickly turn and jump a fence to the backyard. She waits a moment before moving to approach the house again. "You…?" Emma trails off, tilting her head in question.
"Swan, I'm not leaving you alone." He acknowledges her unspoken question. And that is not a warm feeling in her chest at that statement, no it is not! It's just pain meds! Jones is at the door first, silently twisting the lock. The inside of the house is dark and dusty, like it hasn't allowed an occupant in a long time. Even the air inside feels stale. As the pair's footsteps seem to creak and echo in the silence, a wooden trapdoor opens on the floor. A blond, wavy head of hair emerges and bravely glances around, followed quickly by her brother's dark head.
"Why did you guys lie to me?" Emma's voice cuts through the silence. Two pairs of frightened eyes whip around to her. The whites of their eyes seem to glow in the gloom of the house. "Where are your parents?"
Quickly stifling her fear, Ava answers, "We don't have any."
It's a fight to deliver them back to the station. Both sullenly sulk the entire walk. Glances between Nicholas and Ava seem to suggest they're weighing their options to escape. A few well-timed comments and a gesture or two with his hook represent Jones' discouragement. Emma glares at him, hissing not to threaten the children. He quirks that annoying eyebrow and smirks, but ceases the threats. Ava continually insists that they're fine, that they don't need help. Emma almost suggests that they're kids, that they need help. It's only the sheer hypocrisy that statement would carry from her that keeps her mouth shut. A few weeks ago, that was her.
At the sheriff's station, Emma sits both Nicholas and Ava down on the couch, acquiring some food from the back for them while searching for their paperwork. Graham's whistling voice echoes down the hallway as he approaches the bullpen, stopping as he reaches his office. "Emma, this is a surprise," he remarks questioningly. "The other case has encountered a few snags, but I will work through them." Emma bestows a flat glance, ignoring the subtle dismissal.
"Unrelated but similar case," she remarks, fingering through files. Discovering the one she's looking for, she pulls Graham and Jones aside while Nicholas and Ava eat on the couch. "Any chance Regina doesn't already know about this?" A cold feeling of dread sinks in Emma's gut while fire and rage burn through her veins at the thought of confronting Regina again.
"I've been working on debugging the station since your little discovery with the flowers. Since Mr. Clark never actually called," Graham directs a pointed look in Emma's direction that she answers with a sweet, innocent smile. He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Regina never picked it up on the phone tap. So unless she's watching security camera footage, there's a decent chance."
"Good," Emma nods. At least this allows them to help Nicholas and Ava without Regina's interference. "What kind of snag did you hit in the other case? Sophie?"
Graham nods. "Told you, I'll handle it." Emma maintains her eyes firmly on his, demanding an explanation. He stands his ground for a moment, before sighing and explaining under his breath. "Her parents are still cursed. Their memories are of being together, then having a miscarriage about eight years ago that ultimately undermined the marriage."
"Is she…?" Emma can't complete the thought.
"She's being cared for. The nuns." Graham answers with finality. "Now, these two."
Emma sighs and accepts the answer. Nothing can help Sophie until the curse breaks, then. Emma stomps down the feeling of guilt that rises as a result. It's not a broken promise, she reassures herself. It's just going to take a little bit longer to fulfill that promise. You're going to find her parents and reunite them by breaking the curse.
Will Sophie understand that? Emma stomps down the feeling of guilt and helplessness that she doesn't want to and can't afford to feel right now. "Do you recognize them? From back there?" Graham shakes his head. Emma shrugs off the slight disappointment. It was a long shot anyway. "Nicholas and Ava Zimmer. Said their mother was a woman named Dory Zimmer. She died a few years ago. No one seems to know or remember her."
"And the father?" Graham asks in a low voice. Jones thumbs his hook silently, glaring at the metal.
"There isn't one. At least not one that they know." Emma answers.
"What does Social Services say?" Emma glances down at the file in her hands before meeting Graham's eyes deliberately. She doesn't feel even a hint of guilt at failing to call Social Services. He sighs with understanding, scrubbing his hand through his beard. "You didn't report them."
"I report them, I can't help them. They go into the system." Emma whispers urgently, pleading for understanding.
"The system that's supposed to help," Graham mutters. He doesn't even sound certain. Jones scoffs wordlessly, still staring at the metal attached at his wrist. Emma shakes her head.
"Yeah, says the guy who wasn't in it for fourteen years." Emma scoffs. She considers explaining. How kids are thrown into homes where they earn a meal ticket. How these families get paid for these kids and as soon as they're too much work, they get tossed out. But Graham seems to understand already. Whatever his training as a sheriff, he knows there are plenty of homes like that.
"What then? What do you want to do? Adopt them?" Graham asks. Jones glances up with a sharp, pointed look in Emma's direction. His intent is completely clear.
"No. I want to look for their father." That sharp look from Jones turns impassive, stony. She doesn't comprehend why and it's probably one of those things they agreed to not poke and prod anyway, so she leaves it alone. Emma knows she has a hopeful look on her face and can feel the smile growing. "They don't know him. He might not know they exist."
"And you think if he knows, he'll want them." Jones completes emotionlessly.
"I don't know." Emma shrugs, hope still expanding inside of her. She sighs, tamping the feeling down. Now isn't the time for hope. Now is the time for plans and action. "But what I do know is that it's hard enough finding foster families to take one kid that isn't theirs, let alone two. It's their best shot, or…"
A quiet, tearful gasp sounds behind her. Emma turns and sees Ava with tears brimming in her eyes. "We're gonna be separated?"
"No, that's not gonna happen," Emma answers firmly.
"Please, please don't let it." Ava glances back to Nicholas, then firmly meets Emma's eyes. Emma nods, turning back to flick through the file. City Hall's records were torched, she reminds herself. So what's in her hands right now is all she has. Emma chews on her lip as she thinks. In her peripheral vision, she sees light glinting off of the ring hanging around Jones' neck. A man's ring, worn close to his heart. Given what little he's said about his father, it isn't his. It must be his brother's. Something he kept close all these years. As badly as Emma wants to ask, the wheels in her mind twist a different way. She chews her lip as she thinks.
"I may know how to find this guy," Emma whispers, wheels turning in her head. Ava's eyes seem to light up at the possibility. Emma strides back to the desk where she deposited her bag, unzips it, and removes her baby blanket. It's just as soft and comforting as ever in her hands. She blocks the expression on David's face in the hospital, seeing it stuffed under her pillow from her mind. Focusing on the case allows her to ignore the pain in her side and her chest. She feels four pairs of questioning eyes observing her. "I want to show you guys something."
"What's that?" Nicholas asks mildly.
"It's my baby blanket. It's something I've held onto my whole life. It's the only thing I have from…from my parents. I've spent a lot of time with a lot of kids in your situation. And all of them," she pauses and corrects, feeling Jones' eyes on her. "All of us, we held onto stuff. I want to find your father, but I need your help. Is there anything of his you've held onto?" The two siblings share a glance.
"I might have something," Ava begins cautiously. Her eyes scrutinize Emma's face skeptically. Nicholas silently maintains his eyes on his sister. "But if I give it to you, you'll make sure we stay together, right?"
Emma tucks away her baby blanket with what she believes is a reassuring smile. "Right." Ava takes out an old compass, setting it gently on the desk in front of her. The compass is attached to a bronze-colored chain and has a crack in the middle of the glass face. Something about the compass tugs at the back of Emma's mind, something she can't quite place.
"Our mom kept it. She said it was our dad's." Ava explains quietly.
Emma picks up the compass delicately. The metal feels cool to the touch. "Thank you," she answers just as quietly. As she prepares to leave, Graham shoots her a wary side-eye as she borrows keys to a cruiser but offers no more vehement objection. Ava's voice halts her.
"Did you find them?" Emma frowns in question. "Your parents," Ava clarifies.
"Not yet. I haven't given up hope, though." It's technically not a lie. "And I'm gonna find yours." Those words are a promise. She turns once more to leave, hearing Jones right behind her and resisting the urge to turn in question. Another pair of running feet apprehend them both down the hall by the door. She turns and sees Nicholas, his face pale and nervous.
"Please, don't let them separate us. She's all I have," he whispers desperately.
Emma nods. "I won't let that happen. I promise." On that note, seeing Nicholas turn to run back to the bullpen, she departs from the station for one of the cruisers. There are two places in town she can think of that might know who sold this. One is Gold's shop, which she wants to avoid. The other is the Diamond Mine, a jewelry store tucked away on the edge of the woods on the other side of town.
"You mind if I go in alone?" She finally turns to Jones and asks after parking. He flashes her a glance that makes his refusal very clear. Something is starting to rankle about that. It's not like she can't take care of herself. Emma shoves the feeling down. "It's just, you kinda give off a vibe like you're gonna rob the place." That comment produces a surprised laugh from him. His blue eyes twinkle, crinkling at the corners as he follows her in anyways.
"Not to worry, Swan. I'll be on my best behavior."
While her back is to him, she rolls her eyes, entering the well-lit store with a groan under her breath. The owner of the Diamond Mine, Mr. Miner, smiles in greeting. He's more than accommodating, complimenting the compass and paging through a large binder of inventory. Even looking at the wares upside-down, she doesn't need the sympathetic, slight wince he offers in apology. "Sorry, Deputy. It's an excellent piece, but I don't recognize it."
"Thank you for your time," Emma answers with a nod, turning and striding toward the door. His voice stops her.
"But uh, I think Mr. Gold might." Mr. Miner says hopefully. That's exactly what I wanted to avoid. Emma winces slightly before turning back around. She already knows the stony glare that will be on Jones' face. Mr. Miner has a nervous smile on his face. "I mean, the guy gives me the creeps, but he does know his merchandise." Yeah, you and me both.
"Thank you," Emma nods. "Have a nice day." She moves out the door as fast as the pain lancing up her side allows, Jones already gripping her shoulder. Heels click down the sidewalk, preceding her presence. Emma feels herself tense, her heart hammering in fear she never used to feel around Regina. By degrees, she turns, seeing a burgundy smirk curving the mayor's lips as her dark hair bounces with every approaching stride. Jones moves to plant himself between Emma and Regina with a glare that hasn't subsided since the mention of Gold.
"Madam Mayor," Emma greets as politely as she can manage. She forces herself to bite back the instinct to run, to jump in the cruiser and drive off. Every muscle in her body is coiled like a spring, prepared for action. It's only the pain she understands she'll feel as a result that prevents her from springing forward to punch the mayor.
"Captain Jones, Deputy Swan, how are you both on this lovely day?"
"We're fine," Jones grits through his teeth. His arm starts prodding her towards the car.
"Deputy Swan, I heard about the incident at the Dark Star Pharmacy. I've investigated it myself, as Sheriff Humbert refused to answer my questions. As it turns out, these kids are on their own." Emma nods.
"I know. I'm dealing with the situation, Madam Mayor."
"Are you? Because Social Services hadn't been contacted. Don't worry. I've found two homes for them, a boys' home and a girls'. You need to have them in Boston by tomorrow morning." The mayor smiles, something sickly and sweet. Emma's stomach drops to her feet.
"I promised them they wouldn't be separated."
"Well, perhaps you should stop making promises you can't keep. Have a safe drive."
The mayor's heels clicking on the sidewalk announce her exit. Emma releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, sagging in relief against the door of the cruiser. Jones waits long enough for them both to get in the cruiser before turning to her.
"You're not going to the Crocodile." He states clearly, giving an order.
"Don't see another option," Emma mutters. His eyes widen momentarily, before narrowing, staring her down. "It's not like I want to." She can feel his glare burning into her. His hook reaches across, circling her wrist as she moves to start the car. Emma turns to those burning blue eyes and refuses to back down.
"You understand exactly how dangerous that bastard is," he spits through his teeth.
"Yeah, I do," Emma answers quietly. "I also know two places in town could identify this," she holds up the compass. "One didn't pan out, the other is Gold. There was no record of who their father is. City Hall's are gone."
"And why are City Hall's records gone, Swan? Hm?" He asks pointedly.
"Gold, I know."
"The bastard set fire to a building he knew you were in. He all but admitted it. He's currently getting away with kidnapping and assaulting a man. Whether or not he remembers being the Dark One is beside the point." If it weren't for cold steel around her wrist, Emma would draw back at those words. His one goal here, his only purpose for bringing her here, and that's 'beside the point' now? "Gold is dangerous enough and for fuck's sake, I don't want you going anywhere near him, especially not alone." He tugs his hand roughly through his hair, leaving it sticking up in a mess. "Do you have any idea what he'll ask of you?"
While that question is extremely familiar, bringing up thoughts she's repeatedly stomped down in the time since, she doesn't dwell on that. Moreover, it's most likely not a good idea to remind him of the last time he asked that question, if he's not already thinking about it.
Jones has a point. You already owe the bastard enough. Don't owe him more.
"I'm asking the creepy pawnbroker to check his inventory records. It's not that big of a thing." Jones shoots a sharply pointed look in her direction, reminding her of the price she owed for Gold tearing up a contract that sold a baby. Again, something that shouldn't have seemed that tremendous and ended up with Gold holding a blank check, price and date of cash-in to be determined. "I don't have enough of a case to obtain a warrant from a judge to make him. Besides, all I'm offering is whatever cash I currently have in my pocket."
She sighs, hand running through her hair and forcing it back. "I promised I'd find their dad," Emma says firmly. "And whether you're on board with what I have to do to accomplish that or not, I'm going to keep my promise. I'm going to keep them from getting separated or sent into the system." There's some gut feeling igniting in her, the same one that guided her in helping Ashley. "It'll be-"
"Do not say safe or fine, Swan. Because nothing with that bastard ever is." He sighs. "Besides, those words mean anything but, coming from you." She nods then gently nudges his hook away from her wrist to start the car.
"I still have to. I don't have another option to find their parents. The only lead I have is this compass, and the only idea I have on who can identify it is Gold." She lays out her case quietly, plainly. He sighs, but says nothing and doesn't stop her from starting the car and driving to Gold's pawnshop.
The pawnshop door opens with a quiet chime as they both enter.
"Emma," Gold's voice remarks from the back of the shop. He sets down an old-school oil lamp, kind of like a genie lamp, on the glass counter. Something about the falsely-pleasant sound of his voice says he hasn't noticed or has decided to ignore Jones. "How lovely to see you." Without saying a word, Emma walks forward, approaching him while forcing her hand to remain in her pocket instead of gripping her side. "I'm delighted to see you've recovered."
"Thanks," she answers flatly.
"I'm flattered you take time off your busy schedule to see me." The corner of his mouth is turned up slightly. Not even a smile, as the rest of his face is left unaffected. His eyes are cold, calculating. "What can I do for you, Deputy?"
Straight to business. Emma gently sets the compass on the glass countertop, allowing the chain to pass through her fingers as she withdraws her hand. "I'm looking for information about this old compass. Any idea where it could have come from?"
Gold plucks it up gently, leaning on his forearms against the counter. His eyes are lowered as he examines the object in his hands. "Well, well. Look at the detail," he mutters. "You know, this is crystal. This jeweled setting…" Gold strokes a finger along the crack in the glass face. "Despite the rather unfortunate shape it's in, this is actually a very unusual piece." He runs the chain through his hands before setting the compass back down on the counter and resting his chin against his hands. "The person who owned this obviously had great taste."
"And where would someone like that buy it?" Emma asks quietly.
With confidence, Gold jabs his finger into the counter. "Right here, of course."
Quickly, Emma's eyes flick back to Jones, hopeful green meeting a stony blue. "You know it?" Emma asks, hope growing despite her best intentions.
"Indeed," Gold affirms. "A piece like this is difficult to forget."
"Do you happen to remember who bought it?" Emma asks.
Gold huffs out a faint laugh. "Well, I'm good with names, Miss Swan. But maybe not that good." He collects his cane and limps to the glass display case, beside the cash register. A few feet to the right sits a wooden box, filled like a card catalog in a library. "My memory's not quite what it used to be. Afraid that's what happens when you get old." He chuckles. She turns to meet Jones' narrowed eyes as he watches Gold's movements like a hawk. "However, as luck would have it, I do keep rather extensive records." For a moment, his fingers rifle lightly through the deck of index cards before he withdraws one with a flourish. "Here we are," Gold says as he holds it up.
Instead of offering the information listed on the card, Gold predictably continues his slight flourish of the card. Light from the windows to his side shines through the card slightly. Emma's lips curl into a smirk to match Gold's.
"What's your price?" she asks quietly.
"An answer for an answer." Gold whispers. "It only seems fair." Emma shrugs, gesturing her hand for him to proceed. "The picture I gave you in the hospital. Why?" Something in his calculating, brown eyes seems genuinely perplexed.
"Why what?" Jones' eyes are burning a hole through her back. "Why the lack of reaction?" Gold nods quietly. Emma huffs out a sigh, almost expecting this. "You sure you don't want cash instead? I've got…" She withdraws the change and totals it quickly, stalling the answer she doesn't want to give on the topic she doesn't want to think about. "Five dollars and thirty-seven cents. You sure you don't want that?"
Gold smirks. "Charming. No, dearie, I'd like an answer. That is, of course, if you want one in return." He moves to tuck the card away. She knows he's bluffing, but still, Emma groans. Fist clenching and unclenching by her side, tucking her cash away, she nods.
"Fine. Nelson was the scum of the earth. Knowing he's dead is actually a huge comfort. Means I never have to deal with him again. The picture, I guess you could call proof of his demise. Let's leave it at that." Emma rolls her shoulders lightly, trying to loosen the tension without upsetting her side. "Now, the guy who bought the compass, if you don't mind," she snaps impatiently.
He sighs. "The compass was purchased by a mister Micheal Tillman."
"Anything else?" Emma asks.
"Just a name. But I generally find that's all that one needs." Gold answers quietly. His expression, though, relates a conflicting story. His eyebrows are raised in challenge. The corner of his mouth is turned up in a slight smirk, leaving grooves in his face. Maybe Emma's reading him wrong, but he appears to be offering. If she shares more, he'll share more.
Usually never one to back down from a challenge, Emma nods and collects the compass carefully. "Thank you for your help." She turns to leave, walking carefully down the path between display cases. At the door, she pauses, turning back. "Oh, and uh, Mr. Gold?" He raises his head. "I wouldn't sell yourself short. Seems your memory's better than you let on. Have a nice day." The bell chimes her exit.
She's barely reaching the door of the cruiser when a familiar, calloused hand grips her shoulder. "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?"
"Notecard was blank."
Jones sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. Silently, he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. Composed, he stalks around to the other side of the cruiser as Emma slips in the driver's side.
Micheal Tillman, she thinks to herself. The name sounds familiar. Emma starts the car carefully, driving leisurely down Main Street. Her eyes flick to the Marine Garage and it clicks. Micheal Tillman, his name was on the advertisement on the patchwork of local business ads on the back of Granny's menus.
Practically forgetting to indicate, throwing a cautious arm across Jones' chest, she whips the cruiser around in a tight turn and thanks God that the street is wide and empty. Ocean-blue eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror, blown wide in panic at her reckless maneuver.
"Figured out where to find him," she offers in explanation as she pulls into the parking lot of the Marine Garage. They both exit the vehicle and step into the building. The door to the office is cracked ajar and Emma sees a man pacing back and forth, leaning over a desk.
Cautiously, not putting too much strain on her side that is starting to burn, she steps forward and knocks lightly on the door. A man who appears to be in either his late thirties or early forties turns to her. His light brown hair is a tousled mess. Brown stubble dusts across his jaw, above his lip, his cheeks and his chin, rough and untamed. His boots and the bottoms of his jeans are covered in dirt, mud, and leaves. There are dark circles under his eyes, but rather than fatigue in them, Emma sees an almost frantic spark. Behind him, she identifies a map of the woods around Storybrooke on the desk. Sections are divided, some crossed off.
"Can I he-" the man begins before his eyes dart over Emma. "Wait, you're…"
Now she recognizes him. He was one of the men whose hearts Regina had taken. She remembers. His first thought and his only concern was his children. He looks as if he took off from the crypt searching for them and has done nothing else since.
Jones steps lightly around Emma, glancing down at the desk. "You've been scouring the woods, mate?" Micheal nods tiredly, sighing and turning back to gesture at the map.
"It's where we were separated before the curse. I know the sheriff said we each should continue as we always have. We should pretend nothing's different, and nothing's changed. But God dammit!" He runs frustrated hands through his hair before scrubbing them down his face. "I just want to reunite with my family. My kids are my whole world. They have been from their first breaths. This mess, this fight…" he shakes his head. "The curse is between Regina and Snow White. Me, my kids, we've got nothing to do with it." He sighs defeatedly. "I just want to find them."
"Your children," Emma starts. Micheal seems to be holding his breath, waiting impatiently. She withdraws the pictures from Nicholas' and Ava's files, handing them over. If she didn't know the answer before, she does now. Micheal's eyes swim slightly with tears. Gently, she hands over the compass as well. Micheal accepts it, just as stunned.
"I gave this to Gretel. I sent them to fetch some kindling while I felled a tree. This was supposed to guide them back to me, so we could find each other," Micheal whispers. Emma shrugs lightly.
"In a way, it sort of did." Micheal encounters her eyes. "This is all they had of yours. They're at the sheriff's station." His eyes immediately widen. He strides three steps to the door, almost pushing past her before her voice stops him. "They're both safe and alright. Not really in any trouble either." Micheal pauses, turning back to her and listening. "But they're both still cursed. They don't remember you."
Emma tries to say the words gently. She knows the words will hurt. He closes his eyes, facing the wall for a moment, before turning back to her with a determined look on his face. "I don't care. They're my kids. I'm their father. Family always finds one another."
Seeing Nicholas and Ava meet their father, and seeing Micheal Tillman reunite with his kids draws a small smile to her face. They won't be separated. In fact, they have their family. Even if they don't remember him. Something tugs at the back of her mind, however. Something that's been nagging and bugging her for a while.
Pizza box in hand, walking down to the docks that evening, Jones finally comments on her silence. "I can hear you thinking, Swan. So, tell me, what's going on in that head of yours?" Emma chews on her lip and shrugs silently.
"A lot," she answers mildly. He answers with an eyebrow elevated. "They didn't deserve this." Emma ultimately declares. "None of them did. Doesn't matter why the hell Regina cast the curse. No one deserved this."
"Well, Savior, that's something you can resolve."
It doesn't hit the same feeling she needs to hit, though. It's just, something is still disturbing her. She encounters Jones' eyes, apprehensive. "What happens when everything's said and done? What about then?"
"What, when the curse breaks?" She nods. His blue eyes harden in a way she hasn't witnessed in a while. His voice darkens in a way she hasn't heard since Minnesota. "I skin myself a Crocodile. I've never told you anything different."
"What about everyone else?"
"What about them?" Jones asks, genuinely seeming confused.
"Well, is anyone else involved in your revenge?" That! That's what's been bugging her.
"Swan," Jones closes his eyes and sighs, almost sounding resigned. "I've been a right bastard. I've been a villain. I've never cared who got in my way, and who or what I had to do to kill Rumplestiltskin." Emma stiffens at the perceived attempt to justify the harm he's done in the past. Eyes narrowing, she stares Jones' down, almost daring him to make it okay. "A pirate on a quest for revenge. Many innocents have suffered along the way. It's not something I'm proud of. For fuck's sake," he shouts. He forces himself up from the picnic table on the docks, pacing back and forth. "I delivered a child here, endangered you, all for the sake of getting that bastard to remember!" Her eyes widen as she draws back in shock at the anger and frustration in his voice.
Does that mean you want to send me away? Do you regret bringing me here?
No. Don't ask that. You won't like the answer and it's not what you're after right now anyway. She gathers a deep breath, rises slowly to her feet, and faces Jones head-on. "You didn't care who you hurt. So you didn't care who you spared along the way either?" Emma asks with a limited amount of hope in her voice.
"I spared no one, Swan." Jones' voice is monotone in contrast.
"What if I asked you to?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're seeking revenge for a murder from three hundred years ago," she starts.
His blue eyes burn. "If you're saying I should move on, I should get over her-"
"That's not what I'm saying at all," Emma answers calmly but quickly. His rage doesn't actually terrify her, surprisingly. "What I'm saying is, you, Gold, and whatever members of your crew got swept up in the curse, you were the only ones even alive when it happened. The rest of this town," she sweeps her arm back at Storybrooke, lit up like a postcard in demonstration. "They weren't bystanders. They didn't exist! They had nothing to do with her life and nothing to do with her death." If this is still even about her, anymore. Emma knows better than to voice the thought. She follows the moment the rage seems to deflate within him. "They don't deserve to bear the brunt of your revenge any more than they deserve to suffer Regina's. What I'm asking of you is that when you go after Gold, just go after Gold. Leave everyone else out of it. That is what I'm asking of you."
Jones turns for a moment, staring out to the sea. Emma watches the black leather rise and fall on his shoulders. After that moment, Jones turns back with his hand outstretched and a solemn expression. "You're asking me, not to forsake my revenge, but to limit its scope to the bastard responsible?" Emma nods. "You have my word. No bystanders caught in the crossfire. No collateral damage. Not by my hand." Feeling herself gaping, Emma shakes his hand. His mouth quirks slightly in an approximation of a smile. "Surprised, Swan?"
"That it was that easy? Yeah, kind of," she admits.
"Well, I can count the number of people who could elicit such a promise from me on one hand. Half of them are dead. You're one of a very select group, Swan." If that was supposed to make her less surprised, it failed miserably. Emma's stunned. His smirk only grows. "You do know that means you're left depending on the word of a pirate."
"You weren't lying," she answers quietly. "I trust you," Emma whispers.
The words seem to strike him hard. He seems stunned but recovers enough to smile. They both return to their seats, eating slices of pizza in awkward silence. Jones flicks through one of the textbooks David brought by the hospital to distract from the tension.
"The moon," he murmurs. Blazing eyes brimming with excitement meet hers. "The moon in the sky?" He points up at the crescent moon as Emma nods. "Men walked on the moon?" Emma nods with a grin growing from his palpable excitement. "Is this real?" She nods again. "A naval lieutenant," Jones whispers. Emma's eyes flick to the page, skimming upside-down, dimly lit snippets of bios on Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, and Micheal Collins. Before she can ask about the peculiar tone of his voice or look in his eyes, the roaring of a motorcycle's engine cuts through the peaceful sounds of waves crashing on the shore. A bright headlight approaches, moving down the street and finally parking just down the way from them.
A man in a black, leather jacket and a pair of jeans slings a long leg over the side of the parked bike. A brown box is strapped on the back of his bike. He doffs the black helmet and runs a gloved hand through his floppy, brown hair as he approaches with a growing smile. "Hey," he says.
Emma cocks her head, confused. "Hey," she answers quietly, simply to be polite. Jones nods his greeting, maintaining a watchful eye on the man. He looks like he might be in his late teens, maybe early twenties. That growing, charming smile disrupts the brown stubble around his mouth and dusting his cheeks and jaw.
"Is this Storybrooke?" The stranger asks.
"Aye, it is," Jones answers flatly.
"Any place to get a room around here?" The stranger inquires, blue eyes darting between Emma and Jones.
"You mean you drove through the entire town and found nothing?" Jones deadpans.
Emma rolls her eyes behind his back. "Granny's bed and breakfast, it's right up Main Street." She nods in the direction.
"Thank you," the stranger answers. "Maybe a nice, pretty girl would be willing to show me around town." The stranger's smile is almost hopeful while it contains a hint of smug mystery. Like he knows something she doesn't. It takes a moment for his words and his attention on her to register for Emma. Her eyes widen slightly as she draws back, away from him. Shoulders pulling in, eyes darting around for an escape. As much as it would hurt, and as cold as the water has to be, she actually considers jumping into the waves to get away.
"Don't think the lady's interested, mate. Better luck next time."
"Think the lady can speak for herself," the stranger responds, voice harder.
"I'm fourteen," Emma blurts out. The stranger's blue eyes go wide. His smile slides right off his face. He does an awkward about-face, turning back to his bike and pulling his helmet back on before slinging his leg over.
"Right, Granny's, you said." He coughs.
"Main Street. Look for the patio with all the strung-up lights. The bed and breakfast is right around back." He nods, starting up his bike and driving away. Emma releases a faint sigh of relief as the stranger drives away.
"Is it just me, or did you get the impression people don't come here?" She asks Jones.
"Not just you, Swan. I gathered that as well."
"So what does…" Emma lightly points her thumb in the direction the stranger just took.
"Means you've been changing things, Savior."